


Words To Heart

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: D'aww, Humor, M/M, fluffy holiday fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is a belated Christmas prompt from myself wherein Finch is a bit of a Scrooge and John shows he cares through warm fuzzy feels......and prezzies!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words To Heart

Title: Words to Heart-One Shot  
Rating: T  
Pairing: Finch/Reese  
Tags: humor, bit of fluffy holiday fun, d'awwwww, offscreen hints of Rinch

**ohjupiterohjupiterohjupiter**

 

The day wound down with no new number coming in and John occupying himself with decorating for the holidays. Finch divided his time up between server maintenance and frowning at his partner. Harold naturally assumed that the dufflebag Reese brought with him that morning contained yet more armaments. He almost wished it had.

"I don't see the purpose in all of this folderol, Mr. Reese."

"Some people actually do _like_ to celebrate the season Harold. I happen to be one of them."

Finch eyed the two-foot, potted evergreen tree as if it had personally insulted him. Granted now that the op had added tinsel, some ornaments and plugged in the string of white LED lights, it did much to soften the decrepit austerity of their lair. He would never admit such to Reese however, if only out of principle.

"Christmas is in three days, thought it would be nice to brighten up the office." John's voice held that hint of teasing that Finch knew so well by this time; having had it directed at himself on many an occasion.

"I suppose you have a Santa hat or something of the like for-"

At that moment, the patter of claws on hardwood became audible as Bear loped in from the stacks, rawhide chew bone in his teeth and a magnificent set of felt reindeer antlers gracing his head. 

"Of course....." was Harold's dry comment.

Deciding this was the time for the coup-de-grace, John brought a shopping bag over and set it next to Finch's keyboard.

"Got something for you too, Harold."

"I am not wearing antlers." the recluse huffed, crossing his arms.

"Wouldn't dream of it. This is more your style anyway." John nodded to the bag.

Harold, curiosity getting the better of him, reached into the bag and pulled out a waistcoat. The back panel was silk, sporting a glorious pattern of holly berries and leaves. The front was an eye-blinding polychrome of satin, velvet and wool patches in deep tones of plum, burgundy, forest green and royal blue stitched with deliberate randomness on a backdrop of scarlet. Gold embroidered letters in each patch spelled out 'M-E-R-R-Y C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S". 

Finch's look of disgust made his feelings plain but he emphasized his point with a cold "I'm not wearing _that_ either!" 

"You sure Harold? I thought for the office party we might-"

Finch shut down his computers and stood up; brushing past his partner to reach the coat-tree. "I am leaving for the night. If you wish to continue this tomfoolery then by all means enjoy yourself. Please arm the security system when you go home. Goodnight Mr. Reese."

Harold removed Bear's antlers before snapping on the dog's leash and making his way down the stairs to the street. John watched them go, his enthusiasm in no way dampened by his boss' grousing. On the contrary, Reese's misdirection had worked like a charm. He only wish he could see Finch's face when the recluse realized what he’d done.

**ohjupiterohjupiterohjupiter**

 

Finch, eschewing his car service in favor of walking out his irritation, decided to retire to his newest safe house for the evening. Although it was the most recent to actually be put in use, Harold had purchased the property shortly after Nathan's death. It sat untouched for almost two years....a shrine to the guilt Finch still carried from his friend's passing. It was only after he and Reese had been partnered a year that Harold felt enough stirrings of hope to make him revisit the apartment and begin refurbishing it.

Now it had become a refuge of sorts. The pain of losing Nathan mellowed at last into a quiet ache and Finch found that spending time in the last place his friend had called home brought him a measure of comfort. With these thoughts in mind, Harold made his painful way along the streets of Manhattan, Bear keeping pace with him perfectly. He shivered a bit. _December has been colder this year than it has in a long time._

Harold shoved his hand in his coat pocket, searching for the kidskin gloves he kept there; only to find a business card bearing an unknown address. He flipped it over to see the words _'open until 9:30 p.m. ask for Jacob'_ scrawled across the back. Finch pulled out his phone. The address revealed itself to be a business establishment by the name of 'Curious Notions'. Intrigued enough to embark on this rather unorthodox errand, he checked his watch and hailed a taxi. 

**ohjupiterohjupiterohjupiter**

Harold Finch stood in front of a very unassuming store facade. It almost seemed to fade into the thrift shop on one side and the plumbing fixtures purveyor on the other. He studied the street; it certainly was not a high traffic area, being on the fringes of Greenwich Village as it was and a couple of blocks off the main thoroughfare. 

Harold glanced with interest at the eclectic hodge-podge of items contained in the display window. A porcelain wigstand, its pristine white color mellowed into ivory due to age, sported a battered top hat. To one side stood an antique globe on a beautiful carved wooden stand, flanked by an enormous leather boot and a collection of lead soldiers. A chip of marble, well-worn stuffed rabbit, snub nosed revolver, single playing card and tarnished signet ring were scattered with haphazard abandon in the center of the display. 

The store's name had been reverse painted with great care on the glass, each letter outlined in fading gold gilt. Finch was no closer to deducing what it's owner actually peddled although he surmised it must have something to do with antiques or collectibles. Checking to see that Bear's service vest was in order, the recluse stepped up and opened the door. 

The silvery chime of a bell greeted his entrance and Harold had to smile in nostalgia. The sound took him back to the main street shops his mother would frequent, with young son in tow, on her Saturday afternoon marketing trips. The expression faded from his features as he looked around to see an empty room. True there was a sales counter and manual cash register off to one side but the wall shelves were bare, the wooden floor empty of tables or displays. Moreover there was no-one in evidence to serve him. 

Finch was about to call out when a voice floated towards him from behind the burgundy velvet curtains separating the back room from the front. 

"Patience friend, I'll be with you in just a moment." The tone was reedy but radiated good humor and sounded like it belonged to a man in his seventies at least. Harold couldn’t place the nationality but there was a definite continental flavor to the speaker’s pronunciation of certain words. 

“I’m in no hurry.” 

A quiet chuckle greeted Finch’s reply. “Then please, you and your loyal companion make yourselves at home.” 

Harold started, looking down at Bear in reflex. The malinois had made no noise, not even to pant. _How could he know I have a dog with me?_

More than a little intrigued now, Finch made his way over to the one piece of furniture in the room, a wheeled wooden chair; not unlike the one at his own workstation. He eased himself into it, Bear stretching out at his side and waited for his as yet unseen host to make an appearance. 

A few minutes later the curtains parted and an older gentleman stepped into the room. He was only a hair taller than the recluse. Finch revised his estimate of the man’s age up by ten years. His eyes were a medium brown and although bounded by oval glass lenses, were bright with curiosity. He smiled, showing a mouthful of teeth that anyone his age would be proud to still possess and laughed again. 

“Good evening sir,” he nodded first to Finch then to the dog at his side “and sir. How may I be of assistance to you gentlemen?” 

Harold, who had stood up when the man entered, offered a small smile in return. He felt....not uncomfortable exactly but slightly wrong-footed by the things he’d encountered so far on his impromptu quest. Still, confusion was no excuse for a lapse in courtesy however. 

“Good evening. I’m not quite certain I am in the correct business.” Harold fished out the business card from his pocket. “I was given this address, with the instructions to ask for someone by the name of Jacob.” 

The old man’s face lit up, his smile growing wider. “You must be Mr. Wren, yes?” He reached into the pocket of his cardigan to remove a slip of paper; lifting it to his glasses to confirm its scribbled notations. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before you stopped in.” 

He held out his hand to Finch. “I am Jacob, Jacob Weatherly at your service.” 

Harold extended his own cautiously, noting the wiry strength in the octogenarian’s grip. 

“You know more about why I’m here than I do it seems, Mr. Weatherly.” 

“Jacob, please...just Jacob.” The shopkeeper turned and moved to stand behind the counter. “I have a package for you.” 

So saying, Weatherly pulled a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and securely bound with twine from a hidden shelf. He placed it on the counter, sliding it towards Harold. 

Finch reached for his wallet, only to have the other man wave a hand at him. 

“Oh goodness.....no, no....no charge Mr. Wren. The only stipulation is that you do not open until you are at home.” 

Jacob shook Harold’s hand a second time, reaching down to scratch Bear’s ears without fear. The dog thumped his tail against the wooden floorboards, tongue lolling out in contentment. 

“Thank you for stopping by. I hope you and your guardian have a pleasant evening.” The old man disappeared behind the curtains again, leaving recluse and dog alone in the shop. Finch stared after him for a long moment before gathering up his package and stepping back out into the street. 

“That was certainly a _unique_ encounter.” 

Bear tilted his head, yipping as if in agreement. 

This time Harold did summon his driver and settled into the warmth of the limousine's backseat with a grateful sigh. He ran a finger over the parcel he’d been given but the paper was thick enough to keep its contents secret. _I shall find out soon enough at any rate._

**ohjupiterohjupiterohjupiter**

Once at his safe house Harold removed Bear’s vest, giving him the command to ‘relax’. Finch changed into a pair of loose lounging pants and a cardigan before settling at the dining table with his mystery package and a cup of tea. He untied the string; removing three layers of butcher paper and one of tissue to reveal.....a treasure. 

“Oh my....” Harold’s voice was filled with wonder as he lifted from its protective nest a first edition copy of Asimov’s masterpiece. With reverent hands he carefully opened it to the copyright page to see not only was the book a first issue but signed by the author as well. The dust jacket, in very fine condition, echoed the red of the book's binding and Finch smiled at the distinctive silhouette of a mechanical man gracing it. He was just closing it when a card slipped from the pages. 

_Bear saved up his allowance, just so you know._  
 _-Merry Christmas Finch_

Harold's thoughts were pulled back to that harried first morning back at the library. With the last of Root's sedatives faded from his system, the wound on his palm properly treated and dressed and the knowledge that John Reese had risked everything to find him foremost in his mind; Finch found the loss of one of his books easier to focus on than the emotional trauma he'd been subjected to. 

He had been at his most vulnerable then; his self-confidence so thoroughly broken that he wasn't sure he would ever get it back. John had been there, a quiet calming presence yet switching to active protector the moment Miss Groves had called. Harold had wondered off and on ever since what Reese was about to say in response to Finch’s declaring he owed the op a debt. 

He knew now, as he looked once more at the book in his hands; knew without any shadow of doubt. 

**ohjupiterohjupiterohjupiter**

John Reese entered the library the next morning to find Finch's coat already hanging from the halltree. He tensed, assuming that such an early arrival must mean business to be taken care of. 

"New number, Finch?" He stopped in mid-stride, staring at the unusual sight of Bear sporting a particularly garish holiday themed dog sweater. "Harold? What is-" 

His partner limped into the reading room, carrying a large tray resplendent with finger sandwiches, cakes, a teapot and two cups. As Finch placed it on the now clear table, John realized the recluse was wearing the vest Reese had presented to him the day before. 

Harold smiled at his friend, moving to pour them both some tea. "Merry Christmas, John. I apologize for not being in the spirit of things of late." He held out a cup to his gaping companion. 

Reese's jaw clicked shut and he accepted the steaming mug. "No problem Harold." He returned Finch's smile, feeling warm from more than just the tea. John nodded to the malinois. "Bear's looking sharp too." 

Both men laughed and Finch stepped closer to the person who'd become so much more than just an asset to him. "I was wondering....if you've no other plans of course, whether you might care to spend the holidays with me?" 

John's eyes were bright with the knowledge that something important had changed between them. "There's nothing I'd like better, Harold." 

**ohjupiterohjupiterohjupiter**

_Finch returned to 'Curious Notions' many times to avail himself of the treasures that Jacob Weatherly sought with such enthusiasm. It was on one of these visits that he discovered the perfect gift to show John how much he'd come to mean to Harold._

_Jacob wrapped it with the same care that he had Finch's parcel, winking at Harold as he left the shop. Weatherly waited until his best customer was well gone before stepping up to his window and removing a vintage shooter marble, a wooden soldier and a stone in the shape of a heart, worn smooth by the waters of the river it was taken from. The book-seller smiled at the trio of objects in his hand and wished Mr. Wren and Mr. Rooney well on the journey they were destined to share._

**ohjupiterohjupiterohjupiter**

NOTES: Well, this started out as a simple, fluffy holiday story and wound up (as such things sometimes will) turning into something with a touch more substance. One idea that I've had for a long time is that Finch would stumble across a rare book shop that has no books on display. The premise for Jacob Weatherly's business is that his store is in an area where advertising expensive merchandise would be an invitation to be robbed. 

What better way to intrigue and attract clients then to have them puzzle out what he had to sell. The items in the window of 'Curious Notions' say without words the rare/first editions Weatherly currently has on hand. As a book sells, the items are removed and replaced with different tableaus as he acquires new tomes. Then the twist of Reese finding the shop first, realizing what the window's contents meant and finding a book for Harold was just too much to let pass. 

So, for a breakdown of what was in the window when Finch first visits Mr. Weatherly: 

Wigstand with tophat-Abraham Lincoln: The War Years  
Globe, oversized boot  & lead soldiers- Gulliver's Travels  
Chip of marble- The Agony & The Ecstasy  
Stuffed bunny-The Velveteen Rabbit  
Snub-nosed revolver-Adventures of Sherlock Holmes  
Playing card-Alice's Adventures in Wonderland  
Signet ring-Ivanhoe 

And the marble, wooden soldier and weathered, heart-shaped rock? _A Boy's Will_ by Robert Frost. A book of Frost's poetry that has been described as 'a chronicle of a boy’s maturation from idealism and self-centeredness to a realization of love and an acceptance of loss' (and which includes no few love poems as well). A collection that seems apropos to both Finch and Reese, at least to me anyway. 


End file.
